The Dancing Truths of Clara Morrison
by WinterMelodies
Summary: Clara Morrison lost everything in one night. With her world shattered and obliterated will she be able to make it through the dark hole that is now her life and find happiness once again. A story of friendship, tragedy, truth and all the other daily issues of being a witch at Hogwarts.


It was a pristine summer's evening in Castle Combe, Wiltshire, England. The wisps of clouds in the twilight sky were transitioning from soft pink to a burnt orange, indicating the final minutes of the sunset. The breeze was light and fragrant, picking up a leaf every so often and causing it to tumble a foot or two. The only noise that could be heard by those out walking was the clicking of shoes, rustling leaves and the occasional car in the distance on the main road which leads out of town.

I was walking down the small cobbled streets with my two parents, Sarah and Mark Morrison.

My mother works in a small bakery on the south side of town. She has beautiful sandy blonde hair which falls into natural locks just below her shoulders and is fairly thin and slightly small, although her confident smile and walk make her seem a lot bigger than that. My father, on the other hand, is an amateur writer and photographer and a foot taller than my mother. He has dark brown disheveled hair and a broad jawline and his vibrant dark grey eyes always look kind and genuine. As if my mother sensed me looking in their direction just ahead of me, she glanced backward and gave a small smile, proceeding to walk hand in hand with my father along the path.

We were on our way to Castle Combe manor to attend the annual summer dinner festival. My mother had helped make some of the biscuits and cakes which would be available to win in a raffle later that evening to the village. My father was using the opportunity to take some pictures so was sporting a Canon RC-260 which he was going to use for the first time since its release earlier this year. This particular festival always falls on my birthday, however, I do not really mind as I get to spend the night with the other children in the village eating tonnes of food and having a go at some of the game booths. The stone buildings around us had lost the slither of sunlight which graced their walls during the last of the sunset, now, they were graced with the warm light of the streetlamps. I grasped the invite in my hand and tilted it as we walked under another small streetlamp so that I could read it.

The Castle Combe societal foundation presents

The 22nd annual Castle Combe Manor Summer Dinner Festival

Sunday 25th August 1991 7pm-11pm

Castle Combe Manor

I folded the glossed paper in half and placed it back into the back pocket of my jeans. I was wearing a light pink knitted jumper, black jeans, and my white converse. My hair was up in a messy bun which my mother had done and I was wearing a charm bracelet which my parents had gotten me for Christmas the year before. Although for people outside of the village the party might seem lame and nothing like the ones of cities, for this village it is a festivity everyone enjoys and attends. It will definitely not have big blasting music and flashing lights, instead, it's simple live music and candles lining the tables with small lights on the walls. I remember when it was my 6th birthday, my father was dancing with me and spinning me in small circles near a row of tables. He had done one giant spin and I had lost my footing, knocking into the table next to me. Luckily for me I was uninjured, not so luckily for Mrs. Myers a candle in the center of the table had been knocked over and had landed on her hair, my father jumped over to try and put it out and frantically started patting her hair, however a strand had got caught in his watch and the next time he pulled back his arm to swat at her hair again, he had taken it completely off her hear…. Turns out it was a wig. Let's just say Mrs. Myers never bought another one of my mum's bakery items again.

My dad brought me out of thought as he turned around saying "Come on Clara, if you don't stop walking like a sloth all of Mrs. Clark's famous chocolate pies will be gone!" at this, my mum fake gasped and playfully smacked my dad on the shoulder with the hand that wasn't holding his stating "Mark you can't go eating the enemies desserts, and besides you love my chocolate cookies!". He just smiled back goofily at her grinning "yes but this is pie we're talking about dear, pies! You should add them to your bakery items because pies are life". My mum hummed in agreement and agreed that maybe she should.

Just as the conversation ended we had arrived at the manor.


End file.
